Welcome to the Light Side
by MinorCharacter
Summary: We all saw Voldemort’s body lying dead on the ground when we were seventeen, so that means he’s been dead for three years, right? Wrong. That's the first problem. Post Hogwarts chaptered WIP, HBP spoilers, canon compliant.
1. Dawlish and Smith

"_Furnunculus!_ _Imperio!_"

"_Protego!_" I panted, crouching and rolling across the floor in a very unmanly way that no self-respecting twenty-year-old ever wants to find himself doing.

"_Relashio!_" A jet of light shot out the end of my wand, but my opponent deflected it with a slight flick of his wand. As if I ever thought I could actually inflict damage upon The Chosen One with my lame little sparks! Pathetic, Goldstein – learn a few _real_ spells, why don't you? I rolled my eyes inwardly.

Before I resume my dramatic and impressive saga of reckless courage and heroic self-sacrifice, I would first like to assure you, my audience, that I _am_ in fact a sane person. When Filius Flitwick advised me to pursue a career as an Auror way Back In The Day when I was a wee little fellow of fifteen and I eagerly settled on this line of work, I had _no idea_ that in doing so, I would be setting myself on the receiving end of Harry Potter's wand. No bloke in his right mind would do that, and I am no exception. I would have quit once I learned what I was getting into, but my parents liked the idea of having their son, Hogwarts Head Boy of his day, involved in the Ministry – "the noble profession" of Defense, to be exact. The only reason why I'm still here hopelessly dueling with ("dueling with" in and of itself is a rather generous term – try "being hexed by" and you're starting to think along the right lines) a vastly more powerful and accomplished Gryffindor than myself is because my mother has a heart ailment; stress and severe disappointment are bad for her health and I don't want her to have a cardiac arrest.

Well, perhaps that's not the _only_ reason – I've noticed that the witches seem to find "Auror-in-training" an attractive title, as well. Okay, the job carries some definite perks.

"_Imp_ –"

I never found out whether Potter was about to zap me with another Imperius Curse or perhaps the kinder, gentler impediment jinx (never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that a time would come to pass when I would attach the adjective "gentle" to a hex of _any_ sort) because at that point, Dawlish (clever, brilliant Auror and instructor who he was) saw fit to blow his whistle and halt the day's practice.

Once he was sure that the fighting was over (attacking an odd mania of his – he's got that mad glint and his eye and everything, even in simple battle simulation settings like the ones we go through at least four times a week these days), Harry walked over and extended a hand to pull me up. When he's not busy cursing me in training sessions, we actually get along together fairly well. What a pal! (Catch the sarcasm?)

"Good training today, Anthony!" he said, clapping me on the back. He sounded slightly breathless. (Honestly, how could _he_ have the nerve to sound slightly breathless? Just standing there, jinxing me silly while I lay sprawled on the ground like some demented animal. I should take up a second career as a gymnast, for all the acrobatics I've managed in the process of dodging his spells – not to mention the even _more_ incredible feats I've brought off under the Imperius Curse. Maybe it would pay better than this. Maybe there would be nice girls at the Muggle circus. Terry and I could go together!)

"Erm, yeah, it was rather excellent," I agreed with a noncommittal shrug as we went to collect our cloaks, books, and accessories before leaving training for the day. _We should work with mannequins when it's time to learn about the Cruciatus Curse._ "Hey, listen" – note my obvious attempt to change the topic of discussion here, as I thought I just might deck him if we continued along the lines of Harry Potter's brilliant talents in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry Potter's breathtakingly fabulous defeat of Voldemort, _etc._, which is where nearly all conversations end up anyway these days – "Terry's getting out of work early this morning. D'you and Ron fancy –"

"MR. POTTER!" I recognized Dawlish's voice behind us right away; it's the horrible, _booming_ sort, the kind that makes you think the speaker's either shouting at someone three stories up or else slightly deaf. Dawlish's voice was shortly followed by Dawlish, a short, bald bloke who you wouldn't spot for a particularly impressive person if you didn't already know any better. "An excellent performance today, Mr. Potter, though my only concern, if you will permit…." He grasped Harry firmly around the shoulders and began to lead him in the opposite direction.

Pfft. My plans don't mean anything to _anybody_, do they?

"I'll just grab your things for you, shall I?" I called after Harry's retreating back. It's not _his_ fault, I suppose – Dawlish is downright obsessed with him. Well, I suppose _any_ Auror school instructor would be obsessed with a young man who was responsible for the downfall of Voldemort (while we're standing here waiting for the pair of them to come back, I might as well tell you that we're through with the "You-Know-Who" business; Voldemort turned out to be mortal after all, and should be treated as such) at the mere age of seventeen. But Dawlish is _too_ obsessed. Unhealthy-like. I wonder whether he pines for Harry when we're on holiday.

"_Accio bag!_" I said clearly, raising my wand, and my bag zoomed neatly toward me out of the student closet. I'm good at those household-y types of spells, transfigurations, and charms even though Potter can beat me on the Auror stuff. (And _only_ Potter, mind – I'm still better than most of them. I'm good at strategy. Ravenclaw and all that.) "_Accio clo_ – ouch!"

Someone's books hit me squarely in the forehead, and I spun around, wand raised, ready to take my frustration with Harry and Dawlish and my professional situation and my love life (wait on that one – it comes up later in the story) out on the moron who apparently tried to summon his junk straight through my head by cursing the living daylights out of him – and found myself standing face-to-face with my dear old chum, Zacharias Smith.

Zacharias Smith, you have to understand, is the biggest mistake I've ever made since I stole my grandfather's wand when I was six. The way he came to be a part of my life is pathetic in and of itself, and five years after it happened, I would give all the tea in China to have a massive, apocalyptic time-warp transport me back to my fifteen-year-old body and give me a second chance to redo that _one_ afternoon of my entire existence. You, the reader, really don't need to know the details, which illustrate my shallow nature in all its glory, but since you're actually _spending time_ reading my epic I guess I can afford to give you the general gist.

Basically, like I said, I'm fifteen, emotionally immature, and hormonal. I have a mad crush on one Hermione Granger, who I had met in the prefects' carriage on the Hogwarts Express earlier in the year. My friend Michael Corner, who has been dating a fourth-year Gryffindor for some time, waltzes into the House common room and tells me and Terry that Harry Potter (best friend of Hermione) is starting some sort of defense/You-Know-Who awareness group and invites us to come along to the first meeting. Hermione, as per usual, is lovely and very passionate about her beliefs, and the most that I manage to choke out in the Hog's Head is a strangled "hear, hear!" I go to the second meeting in hopes of getting more than a word in edgewise with her, Potter tells us that we're going to be practicing disarming, and my opportunity to impress Hermione is handed to me on a silver platter.

Zacharias Smith. He is the most heinous, awful being I've ever met, and a _Hufflepuff_, to top it all off. He flies in the face of all traditional Hufflepuff stereotypes – the bloke's not nice, not loyal, not fair, and not a friend – but he's still in Hufflepuff. (Confirmation of my theory – that I have not shared with a single living, breathing soul – that the intelligent go to Ravenclaw, the ambitious go to Slytherin, the tough go to Gryffindor, and everyone else goes to "the other House.") I know that Hermione is big onto the inter-House unity bandwagon … so I decide to show off a bit, partner up with Zacharias instead of my friends, demonstrate that I'm completely above petty rivalries. What I _don't_ know is that Zacharias is an awfully clingy person, and in trying to attract the girl's attention for a minute, I've acquired the stalker of a lifetime.

My thing for Hermione is over. (And you can bet your bottom knut that Weasley would have killed me if it weren't.) Zacharias's thing for _me_ is _not_. On one rather sentimental occasion, the poor bloke informed me that I was "the first _real_ friend he ever had" … skip a few years and you've got the pair of us working in the Auror program, eating at least one meal together almost daily, and owling each other over the holidays (Zacharias still lives with his mum, while Terry and I rent a flat in London). Now all I need is for him to ask to move in with me. (Chuckle chuckle.)

I lowered my wand. "Could you do me a favor and watch who's standing in the way of your summoning charms in the future?" I attempted to snap, but as little stars were still twinkling in front of my eyes from the impact, it came out as a feeble sort of whimper.

"Oh, erm, well, that is to say …" Zacharias trailed off. That's the other annoying thing about him – no matter how clearly wrong he was, he will _never_ apologize. I have to say, I _hate_ excessively proud people. Unfortunately, I seem to be perpetually surrounded by a whole passel of them.

"Don't mention it," I said, somewhat regaining my bearings and trying to cut off the conversation at the chase. "Only a guy doesn't like to be concussed by a bag of books on a regular basis. Not good for the mind." I tapped my head weakly. "Oh, hey, Ron."

Ron Weasley, the fourth member of my Hogwarts graduating class who found his way into this line of work, was vaguely wandering toward us. He's not the greatest person to talk to if highly intellectual discussion is what you're after – ever since he started dating Hermione at the end of our seventh year, I feel she's been the only thing on his mind (and maybe even before then; love can be absolute torture, I tell you) – but at this point, I was looking for _any_ excuse to get away from Zacharias before he asked me to go shopping with him in Diagon Alley or some other stupid thing of that ilk.

"Hello, Anthony," Ron nodded briefly. His eyes widened slightly as they grazed over Smith, and he edged closer to me so they could avoid looking at each other. The pair of them have never gotten along well – it's a combination personal/family grudge that dates back to the same fated Hog's Head meeting at which we all entered one another's lives. Ron will say the "feud" is all Zacharias's fault for mouthing off to Harry. Zacharias will say it's Ron's fault for not exercising control over his older brothers (I gather that one of them threatened to stick a Zonko's product up his … well, you know). Suffice it to say, they got off on the wrong foot and their already strained relationship was quickly further exacerbated by The Quidditch Factor. The prats still can't get past it. "Where's Harry?"

"Dawlish hauled Harry off again to give him more 'advice' on his career," I said, doing my best to restrain my grimace. Seeing that Harry is my new co-worker, I try very hard not to act too envious of his triumph over Voldemort and his subsequent fame. Being unabashedly jealous is not a good way to get friendly, especially where a twenty-year-old man is concerned. Seeing that _Ron_ is Harry's best mate, I try very hard not to make much of Harry around _him_, either.

"He's wasting his bloody time on Harry," Ron said disdainfully in a shocking display of honesty. "Harry can already dance circles around him. Heck, he got rid of Voldemort at the mere age of seventeen! He'll have no problem passing the Auror program. It's the rest of us Dawlish should be worrying about. Not you so much," he added quickly. "You were Head Boy, you're a brainy type. But me.…" I got the distinct impression that I was not the only one in the Auror program who felt slightly _overlooked_, shall we say, in the presence of The Boy Who Lived (Twice – And By A Combination Of Sheer Luck And Company With More Impressive Foresight Both Times If You Ask Me).

"Oh, come off it," I said bracingly in a rare upsurge of affection for Ron, who honestly is among the whiniest blokes I know. "Hey, before Dawlish came over –" (insert collective rolling of eyes here) "– I was about to ask Harry whether you two would like to come out to lunch today. Terry's getting out of work early and we were planning to eat out, get a break from the apartment."

Terry Boot is to me as Harry is to Ron. Well, that analogy isn't _entirely_ true, as it would imply that Terry is constantly overshadowing me as Harry is constantly overshadowing Ron (far from the truth), but our relationships are very similar in many respects. We met shortly after our Sorting on our first day at Hogwarts, and as a pure-blood wizard, I essentially took Terry, who is Muggle-born and was extremely stunned by the very _concept_ of ghosts and spells and talking hats, under my wing. As fellow Ravenclaws, we came to be pretty close over the course of our school years and started renting a London apartment together after we graduated because Terry (actually, more like Terry's parents) decided that it would be inappropriate for him to simultaneously hold a job in the Ministry of Magic and live in a Muggle house. (If truth be told, I think Mr. and Mrs. Boot, who really are lovely people, were starting to feel awkward about answering neighbors' questions concerning their son's education and employment situation.) He's currently working for the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad; I don't exactly know what he _does_ there, and I'm not entirely certain he has any better idea himself, but the title sounds glamorous, at any rate. Like he's above the ordinary people – "they cause the accidents; I fix them."

"I haven't talked to him about where yet so we'd have to run it by him," I continued, "but I was thinking in London … The Leaky Cauldron or something.…"

"Count me in," Zacharias said loudly over Ron's shoulder. The bloke is sorrowfully socially inept – this wasn't the first time that he had invited himself to someone else's gathering. It's a pity that I'm such a nice guy; I've had many, _many_ opportunities to shake him off on account of his rudeness. But I figure that since we're all dirt-poor, newly-independent ex-classmates, what the hey?

"I don't know …" Ron said dubiously, shaking his head slightly, "could we make it – oh, hang on!" he said brightly. "Harry and I already have plans to meet up with some people in Hogsmeade this afternoon, but you and Terry and –" he grimaced "– _Zacharias_ are welcome to come along, if you like." I'm sure that asking Zacharias out to lunch was quite a wrench, but the bottom line is that when he isn't busy acting like a prat or obsessing over his girlfriend, even Ron Weasley can be sensitive to the plights of his friends, _i.e._, me (just to clarify in case you thought I was talking about Smith).

"Oh hey, that sounds great," I agreed. If you want to know the honest-to-goodness truth, it _didn't_ sound great – I tend to gravitate toward Ernie, Hannah, and the more intellectual crowd while Ron still hangs out with his rather, um, _flirtatious_ younger sister and her associated boyfriends – but Smith was already starting to look excited, and hell would surely freeze over before I sent Ron, Harry, and Zacharias off to eat lunch alone together.

"Cool," Ron said, nodding to me and briefly jerking his head in Zacharias's direction (like I said, the whole Gryffindor lot holds grudges for a _long_ time). "Listen, Anthony," he added, "I think Harry's heading over to the Ministry with Dawlish to drop off some papers and have a quick word with Demelza before lunch, so if you want, I'll tell him to stop by Terry's office and let him know how the meal plans are shaping up – ?"


	2. The Three Broomsticks

I never walk into social events, even eating lunch with a group of friends, without knowing exactly what to expect for a reason. It's not like I'm the really domineering sort who has to be in control of all the planning and all the determining of who to invite and who to exclude, but I just need to be mentally prepared for the situation. Here I was thinking that Terry, Harry, Ron and I were going to have a nice meal at The Leaky Cauldron and then go our separate ways, and suddenly were going to "meet up" with "some people" somewhere "in Hogsmeade." The whole state of affairs is too ambiguous for me, and if the people with whom we're meeting up turn out to be people with whom I do not particularly _want_ to meet up, I'm in for a hellish afternoon. On that particular afternoon, hellish was in the cards, all right.

"Look what the wind blew in!" Colin Creevey exclaimed loudly from the center of The Three Broomsticks, where he was sitting with Terry, Parvati and Padma Patil, Harry, and Ginny Weasley. Incidentally, I'm never going to understand how that little Gryffindor twerp made his way into our inner circle; surely doting on Harry for all these years hasn't finally paid off? My only guess is that he has some sort of in with Ginny. By reputation among those of Ravenclaw House, at least, she'll snog anything that stands still long enough. This is one of many reasons I tend to avoid her. "C'mon in, Ron, Anthony," he paused briefly, looking at Zacharias questioningly, "and Zacharias. Pull up a chair … make yourself at home …"

Fortunately, there were plenty of chairs available to pull from the empty tables adjacent to my lovely little luncheon party. For two years, I'd always figured that my friends have been given a wide berth in public places because of The Celebrity Factor. Harry, of course, has been famous for nineteen years at this point, and Ron and Hermione Granger also accumulated a fair bit of glory to their names due to their roles in the downfall of Voldemort. Recently, however, I've come to a realization. The bottom line is that they're just weird, the whole lot of them. Ordinary witches and wizards think they'll be _contaminated_ if they go too close, or worse, that their kids will be.

Even Harry, the man himself, is more than a little bit odd when it comes to his personal life. He's currently dating an eighteen-year-old first-year Auror trainee who used to play Chaser when he was the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain back in sixth year. That's not completely horrible in and of itself; I remember when eighteen-year-old Viktor Krum, for instance, took fourteen-year-old Hermione to the Yule Ball, and their lasting friendship continues to give hope to the love lives of all young men. What _is_ completely horrible is that every time they go out they have to _go out_, as in, leave the house. There's no down time in a relationship like that. And you want to know why? Because Harry lives at the Weasleys' house with Ron _and Ron's parents_!

I quickly made to drag a chair next to Terry, across the table from Padma. Yes, she _has_ been my girlfriend for four years, but I still get a funny feeling when we're together and Parvati's hanging around. This is for two main reasons. First, what if I got them mixed up? Would Parvati be kind enough to _stop_ me if I were getting a little ahead of myself with her, or would she regard it all as some great big joke? Would _Padma_ find it remotely amusing if I asked her sister out to dinner? And second, assuming that I _didn't_ get them mixed up, I _still_ find it embarrassing to have my girlfriend's sister nearby every waking second. It just puts me on edge. I never went to the Astronomy Tower while we were at Hogwarts. Three guesses why.

"Here, Anthony, take a menu –" Suddenly someone was shoving one in my face, and I realized that in my haste to avoid Padma I had ended up sitting between Colin and Ginny, the lone teenagers. Oh _brother_, this was going to be the pits. Colin doesn't know how to shut up and Ginny doesn't know how to stop flirting, even when the guy in question has been involved in a relationship since he was sixteen and his girlfriend is in the same room. I saw Terry shoot me a quick but apologetic glance, and I briefly felt lucky to have a normal roommate, at least. Key word: _briefly_. Savour this moment.

"So where's Hermione got to that she has to skip lunch, Ginny?" Parvati opened the talk conversationally, glancing up from her menu.

"Don't know," Ginny said, raising her eyebrow. "I'm only the roommate." Hermione, Ginny, and Luna Lovegood, a nineteen-year-old who was in my House at Hogwarts, live together in some apartment in London, only Hermione and Ginny may as well live alone so far as paying the rent is concerned. To the best of my knowledge, Luna decided to go on some bizarre escapade involving _The Quibbler_ newsmagazine and a passel of helio-somethings when she was eighteen, and hasn't returned since. She always was a bit of a creepy kid, in my humble opinion. "It's the _boyfriend_'s responsibility to know her whereabouts," Ginny added, looking pointedly at Ron.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, gesticulating vaguely. "Job interview. She's through with the Ministry, I think – wants to join this arthro – anthro – whatever – a-something-pology group abroad. Has to do with rune translation, unless I'm completely off-base." Even after my disaster of a crush, I've always had a special place in my heart for Hermione, who was Head Girl the year I was Head Boy, though I have to admit that I was not entirely surprised to hear that her first career at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was not a rip-roaring success. The story's a bit different depending on the source, but everyone seems to be in a state of general agreement that she attempted to incite a house-elf riot and ended up exciting the goblins.

"It's too bad she couldn't make it," Ginny sighed. "I was hoping for her advice on … something."

"What do you need advice on that the rest of us can't help you with?" Ron shot across the table, suddenly sitting bolt upright. He has a habit of choosing the worst times to go all overprotective-big-brother on us. This little idiosyncrasy of his has spoiled many a happy meal.

"Nothing, Ron," Ginny said impatiently. "Girl things," she added delicately.

"Oh, so is that why you came here, Ginny? Looking for Hermione? I was wondering." In a rather rare display of presence of mind, Harry interrupted at exactly the right instant, for Ron was glaring angrily at his sister and his ears were starting to turn bright red. "How are things going at work? We scarcely see you at all anymore!"

"Oh, all right, you know …" For all her faults, Ginny remains the only person among us who managed to quickly secure both a job (an internship at the International Magical Office of Law) and a suitor (some twenty-two-year-old up-and-coming foreign fellow in her Department) of some prestige. Unfortunately, she let go of the boyfriend three months ago and since then has been showing every sign of letting go of the job as well.

"You still hot stuff in legal affairs?" Terry asked, leaning forward slightly in what I _think_ he thought was a cool and sophisticated way, and causing me to promptly choke into the glass of gillywater that Madam Rosmerta had just placed in front of me. I feel sorry for him sometimes, I really do … well, I actually feel sorry for _any_ bloke who can't even flirt with Ginny Weasley; the girl's mind somehow manages to translate a request to borrow a quill into an innuendo of some sort.

"Oh," Ginny sighed heavily, frowning slightly, "the work takes care of me, of course, and what with Hermione going through the job transition and Luna flitting off to Scandinavia or wherever the hell she went I really have to have something that pays the rent. But I'm only two years out of Hogwarts, and the whole international scene is just so _boring_, not to mention _awkward_ now that Jean-Claude and I aren't speaking … not that it _wasn't_ awkward when I was dating my boss or anything …"

"Oh Ginny," Harry groaned sympathetically, clearly completely oblivious to Terry's vain attempts to capture her attention. "We've been so worried about Hermione's job hunt, I think we _all_ keep forgetting how hard it must be on you, having to provide financial support for _three_ people … if there's anything I can ever do to help, _anything_ at all …"

Terry rolled his eyes at me from across the table, and I mouthed a quick "nice try" back at him. Pathetic though I find my roommate's romance skills, one has to wonder _why_ exactly Potter still feels the need to flirt with his ex-girlfriend, seeing that he's been in another perfectly happy relationship for several months at this point and Demelza Robins is showing no signs of dumping him soon, Weasley house and all.

"… I mean, it kind of feels odd to be seeing him after all these years, since the last time we actually _spoke_ was the summer after we graduated from Hogwarts and … I don't know … he was perfectly sweet at school, but maybe he _changed_ since then, d'you know what I mean?"

"Well, Anthony knows him, don't you, Anthony? Since you're both with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" Padma said loudly, and I suddenly realized that the discussion of Ginny's romance and employment situation had dwindled off into a side conversation between Harry, Terry, and of course, the lady herself, while the rest of the group appeared to be immersed in Parvati's "potential relationship."

"I – erm – what?" I asked, very much wrong-footed.

"Dean Thomas, he asked Parvati out when they ran into each other in Diagon Alley last week and she said she'd send him an owl after she checked her work schedule," Padma explained impatiently. "Anyway, would you say he's really different from the way he was at Hogwarts?"

"Er …" I stalled, slightly reluctant to give opinion; while it was perfectly true that I ran into Dean almost every time I visited the Ministry on work business and we had even gone out to breakfast together a number of times over the past two years, who knew what sort of trouble I could get into if I sent my girlfriend's twin sister off on an unenjoyable date? "He's a nice bloke," I offered mildly when Padma started drumming her fingers on the table. "I mean," I added quickly, deciding that a pre-emptive defense might be in order at this point, "I never really saw him much at Hogwarts since he was in Gryffindor and I was in Ravenclaw, obviously, so I'm not in much of a position to judge whether he's _changed_ since we left school, but he's interning with the Wizengamot so things couldn't have gone _too_ badly for him …"

Parvati's and Colin's eyes widened and they sat in stunned silence as though they had just witnessed the Second Coming, and then just as suddenly, they took off on their excited chattering again, filled with rejuvenated hope. To be fair, I'm sure that this is how _any_ of us would have reacted to the prospect of a partner with A Real Job and Maybe Even A Future and to go out on a _real_ limb, Possibly Some Money. Exhibit A: Padma Patil, who is now gazing fondly at her boyfriend and feeling immensely content and at peace with herself. I give myself way too much credit!

Having resolved the tangled love lives of the Patil sisters, I turned back to Ginny and Harry, who had somehow turned the tide of the conversation and now seemed to be interrogating Terry about his own romances. I keep telling the prat that the only way he'll be able to maintain his privacy in this world is if he doesn't intrude on the privacy of others; clearly the stupid fellow has yet to learn his lesson.

"Well, I've been involved in _many_ relationships over the past couple of months …" Terry was saying. I swear, if he had known Legilimency, I'm sure he would have been sending do-not-say-a-word-if-you-would-like-to-come-out-of-this-meal-alive brainwaves in my direction at the speed of light. "And though I've met several attractive witches at the Ministry, all of whom appear to be greatly interested in me, I just don't think I'm _ready_ for any sort of long-term commitment. Harry, you're a young guy, I'm sure you know what I mean – actually, you probably don't, as you've been with the same girl for four months, and yes, that's a long time to me – but _you_ definitely understand, Ginny!" he recovered triumphantly. "You and Claude-what's-his-name lasted what, a month?" Honestly, could you _dig_ yourself into a deeper hole?

"It was a _year_, not a _month_, you bloody moron!" Ginny snarled, casting a sidelong glance in Harry's direction. "And I swear on my life, I would force-feed Amortentia to Zacharias before a woman three years older than you would fancy you! You have no business even speaking Jean-Claude's _name_, he's so far out of your league!"

"Whereas you're fresh off a string of really great boyfriends, little Ginny," Terry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Most recent was the French bloke who dumped you as soon as he met someone equally good-looking who was his own age, before him came the eighteen-year-old Belgian guy who you dated for three months before you realized he already had a wife. Maybe you got a little skittish about young people after that one; it would explain Claudius _le charmeur_ at any rate. And before him, of course, was the infamous _Hombre Atractivo_, but I just can't remember what was the matter with him, hmm? The language barrier, perhaps? That is to say, the fact that he spoke zero English and _usted no habla español_? And before _him_ –"

"So sorry to disrupt your conversation, but I really wanted to know whether you reversed many magical accidents at work this morning, Terry?" I interrupted quickly. As much as I hated to do it, the time had come for someone to interject. I love listening to Terry's sarcastic stream-of-consciousness riffs as much as the next guy, and indeed, his cynical side is probably the main reason why we've remained friends for nine years at this point, but the fact remained that Ginny Weasley's boyfriend before _Hombre Atractivo_ was Harry Potter, and I didn't think a nasty joke at my co-worker's expense would be a good idea at all.

"Oh _please_, I frankly don't think _any_ of us care whatsoever about the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad," Zacharias said haughtily, finally making his presence known. Padma, who works with Terry, bristled; all the eyes around the table swivelled in our direction, making me feel very uncomfortable indeed. "But now that you've interrupted Terry and Ginny's conversation _anyway_, Anthony, I actually have something that I wanted to ask him." Like I've said, this is a man who is _very_ good at pinning blame and _very_ bad at accepting responsibility.

"Oh yeah?" Terry raised his eyebrows sceptically, apparently forgetting about his verbal spar with Ginny on the spot, and quite understandably, in my opinion; the words "I have something to ask you" issued from the mouth of Zacharias Smith are rarely followed by a question that you have any desire to answer. "What do you want to ask me?" he added, now in a tone suggestive of a convicted criminal's while awaiting the Dementor who would administer the fatal Kiss (don't ask from whence my creative analogies originate).

"Well," said Zacharias, "I probably should be asking Anthony as well," he conceded, prompting me to cringe inwardly, "but I already know what his answer is going to be, since we're such close friends. I'm twenty years old, I'm finishing my final year of Auror training, I'm going to be employed by next June, and my parents want me to get out of their house already. So what I wanted to know … well, put it this way. I know you two have room to spare, and I want to move in with you."


	3. The Goldstein and Boot Residence

"… and besides, you _personally_ were complaining about the cost of the rent just the other night! If we just let him move in, we would each be paying only two-thirds the Galleons that we pay now. Not a bad deal, in my humble opinion. Hate to say it, mate, but neither Auror training nor the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad carry hefty salaries, and we _do_ have room for another person …" Whenever _I'm_ feeling completely irrational, Terry always has to show his logical side, doesn't he? Most of the time, I forget that he too is a Ravenclaw, and moments like this one make me want to scream.

"I _know_ I said a third roommate would help with the costs," I groaned. "But I didn't mean _Zacharias_, of all people! I was thinking along the lines of Justin, maybe … or Michael, even better …" By telling Zacharias that Terry was immersed in his job and he and I still needed to talk and simultaneously telling Terry that Zacharias was preoccupied with the emotional trauma of an identity crisis and wasn't at all interested in the results of our discussion anyway, I had managed to stave off the moment when we would have to discuss the housing situation for a full week. Unfortunately, the time had arrived when we needed to hash out the inevitable, and the direction of the conversation was not looking good for my cause.

Terry shook his head. "Smith's not a bad guy, really. I mean, I suppose I might have my gripes with him if we worked together, I have to admit – but why are you so dead-set against him? He's not going to smuggle a load of firewhiskey into the flat or anything, and even if he did, it wouldn't necessarily be the worst thing in the world for a couple of mortifyingly innocent twenty-year-olds like –"

"Oh, come off it," I grumbled. How on earth do you explain to your best friend why you don't want one of the most obnoxious, repulsive people on the planet as a roommate if your best friend doesn't understand what makes the person in question so obnoxious and repulsive in the first place? I don't even _know_ exactly why I had such a bad feeling about Zacharias; I just didn't want to have the guy in my quarters, and that's all there was to it. "Don't you think _living_ with someone is sort of … I don't know … _intimate_?" I ventured. "Reckon it's one of those things that's best kept between close friends?"

Terry raised his eyebrows sceptically, then burst out laughing. "I don't know what you think's been going on between us, mate, but I don't think sleeping under the same roof is all that intimate. It's just shelter. And money," he added as an afterthought.

"Not _physically_ intimate, you prat! It's just that we don't know what his habits are like. We don't know what time he wakes up. We don't know what he eats – he might be one of those health food nuts or a vegetarian or something. We don't know what sorts of women he dates, and whether we want them anywhere near our private domain. What if he routinely comes home from the Hog's Head completely drunk at three o'clock in the morning? At least we'd know what we were getting into with Michael, since we shared a dormitory with him for seven years and everything! C'mon, we should at _least_ look into his and Justin's living arrangements before we make a commitment…."

Terry rolled his eyes. "Justin's living with Ernie, as you well know – yeah, yeah, sorry to so rudely interrupt your wishful thinking – and Michael's got some sort of hot-shot career at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He doesn't need to split costs with anyone now and he'll be filthy rich and married to Cho Chang or some other witch of equivalent beauty by the time he hits thirty."

A tinny whistle suddenly sounded from somewhere in the apartment, and I clapped my hands over my ears. Terry whipped out his wand and dashed off to his room, where I could hear him tapping something and muttering spells and incantations furiously. He emerged a couple seconds later and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtains and peering down to the alley below as he shook a rattling metal device vigorously.

"What the hell was that?" I demanded, watching Terry survey the street and crossing the room to join him at the window. After spending seven years as Filius Flitwick's favoured student, Terry seemed to have acquired a taste for experimental charms; nine out of ten times, the strange noises, gases, and odours that emit from his room do not elicit any sort of response from yours truly these days.

"Apparition sensor. It's supposed to detect when people are Apparating nearby so you can mentally prepare for a visitor, you know, but it's quite finicky. I installed it the other day, but I'm not even sure whether I set it up right; it keeps getting set off by house-elves and the likes, and the charms to turn it off only appear to work sporadically …" He rapped the object sharply against the windowsill. Where wands and potions fail, violence will prevail.

"Wonder what sorts of weird gadgets Zacharias will bring with him," I muttered darkly under my breath. There are so many _issues_ involved in bringing strange people into your home. I manage to tolerate my friend's idiosyncrasies for the sake of all his positive attributes, but in most instances, I find that the person in question does not bring enough good to the relationship to balance out the oddities (incidentally, I never understood how Ravenclaw House got a reputation for elitism).

Terry clearly wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention, or else he was doing a good job ignoring me. "Yes, I think it worked this time, definitely a wizard … oh, I think it's Padma!" He looked over at me. "Were you expecting her to come by?"

"No … I wasn't. She must have had one heck of a lousy morning at work – she _never_ has good news when she wants to have lunch with me on a weekday. It means she either wants comfort or an audience that's guaranteed to listen to her complaints."

I expect that my sigh was a touch too heavy or my groan was slightly too audible or my grimace was a little too pronounced, because Terry shot a sidelong suspicious glance in my direction. "What's the matter?" he demanded. "Are you getting _tired_ of it after _four_ years? Because if you are, I reckon you should break things off with her soon as possible, mate – we're going to be hearing the wedding bells for Ernie and Hannah quickly enough, and I'll bet all the gold in Gringotts that she's going to be looking for more than a boyfriend as soon as our friends start getting married."

"I don't want to –" I began, but my words were cut short when the apartment door burst open and Padma briskly marched in.

"Hello, Anthony, good afternoon, Terry … goodness, you lucky thing, you won't _believe_ what you missed at the office this morning! If you don't mind, I'll make a cup of tea; it's absolutely freezing outside …"

"It's sunny," I said, looking out the window, completely nonplussed, as Padma hung up a soaking wet umbrella and cloak on the hook on the back of the apartment door.

"Yes, dear, but you _do_ have an enchanted window," Padma explained patiently. "I'll admit that someone _has_ done a very good job on it; you can still see the street as it is, but the weather is never going to change as long as you keep looking out that thing. So let me just –" she flicked her wand and a tea kettle and mugs appeared on my kitchen table; again, and they zoomed across the room. Mental note: Terry _must_ tell me when he's doing something funny to our joint property in the future. Looking like a stupid idiot does not earn brownie points if your girlfriend happens to be an intellectual snob.

"What happened at work today?" Terry asked somewhat edgily. He works the afternoon shifts with the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad while Padma works the mornings; he's prone to getting extremely uptight and developing stomach cramps ("I'm a laid-back guy – it has nothing to do with my career!") whenever Padma reports on any sort of bad morning situation that might involve him modifying a couple of memories or tracking down some people to sign paperwork or doing any variety of real, actual work in the afternoon.

"I swear, kids are getting worse and worse by the year," Padma said vehemently. "Three fourth-years attempting illegal Apparition in Hogsmeade this morning! They got splinched, of course, and Cadwallader and I had to go sort them out and bring them back to the school … well, it will be a sorry thing on their record, at any rate – cutting class, going into the village when it wasn't even a designated weekend, Apparating without a license … It was a group of Gryffindors, obviously; they have always seemed to think that the laws don't apply to them. At least no one from _our_ House has put us through that sort of shame yet. It will be a pathetic day indeed when a Ravenclaw sneaks out of school to try one of those risky daredevil stunts."

"You know, they're really lucky that they only got splinched," I frowned. "I mean, not that looking down and seeing that your legs and an ear are gone is a pretty scenario for a fourteen-year-old or anything, but if this is the student attitude toward the government, things could be a heck of a lot worse from a legal standpoint. Paperwork and warnings are a frustration for everyone involved, but once you move beyond the territory of the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad and start edging into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement …"

"Exactly my point," Padma nodded curtly. "And I'm honestly surprised by all of this hanky-panky going on at Hogwarts," she added in a very affronted way. "Minerva McGonagall was a lot of things while we were at school, but a pushover wasn't one of them. I would have expected her regime to be at _least_ as rigid as Dumbledore's, if not more so. Then again, she can't be everywhere all the time, and the other professors _do_ have to take some responsibility over the students.

"_I_ attribute all this nonsense to Rubeus Hagrid – I thought that promoting him to Head of Gryffindor was an odd move when we were in seventh year, and in this instance I believe that time has proven me right. All of the students causing trouble are in _his_ House, and there are going to be real problems soon. Like you said, Apparition is one thing, but just you wait until the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery is being breached on holiday and then the Ministry will be _forced_ to take a more active legal stance!

"But I suppose I should stop ranting on about this; I clearly interrupted your conversation and it really isn't fair for me to barge in on you with loads of work stories when you're trying to enjoy your morning off, Anthony. So, you two are heading over to the Ministry later this afternoon, then? You can go back to talking about whatever you were talking about before. I was thinking we could all go to lunch, but you probably don't want to leave the apartment since it's raining and everything. Maybe we should just stay here.

"Oh, but before I forget – the problem this morning was in Hogsmeade, Terry, so you won't have to deal with the Obliviators and modifying the Muggles' memories or the like, but if you could just nip up to Hogwarts and get a signature from Minerva … the Ministry is not going to press charges against the students, but all the same, we need to ensure that some sort of disciplinary action is taken, because next time the law will not be so kind. I have the forms in my cubicle, so when you go back to the Ministry you can just go find them. They ought to be in the top right-hand drawer of my desk," Padma concluded, finally abandoning her monologue.

"So …" I said, quickly casting around for something to say, as Terry was now staring at Padma looking slightly shell-shocked. I decided that a dramatic and immediate change in subject was in order to remedy the mental effects of her recital. "Terry and I got owls from Ernie Macmillan this morning asking us to go to a benefit party at St. Mungo's in two weeks. Were you guys also invited?" Padma lives in an all-Wizarding apartment complex in Bristol with Parvati and Lavender Brown; I've never quite understood how Lavender fits in with the Patils' social life because she is a bit of a dim bulb, if you'll excuse the turn of phrase, and she never seemed to get past the awkward-crush stage of adolescence to develop real relationships of any sort. "Are soup and sandwiches okay for lunch?" I added, crossing the kitchen and starting to take dishes out of the cabinet.

"Mmhm," Padma said in a preoccupied voice. At this point I could tell that she would spend all afternoon contemplating whether Terry would actually get his lazy butt out of the office to have the paperwork signed, and the majority of conversation with her would be entirely useless until she had received official confirmation that the mission had been accomplished. "Yes, sandwiches are good. Oh – and yes, Parvati, Lavender, and I were invited to the party. Parvati is going with Dean Thomas. They seemed to take to each other very well. And of course Lavender is going with Seamus; it's only a matter of time before they realize that they have precious little in common besides the 'proud Gryffindor roots,' but I suppose it's pleasant for both of them while it lasts."

"It must be nice," Terry sighed wistfully, "knowing in advance that you're going to have a date to take to parties. I'm thinking of getting a girlfriend before Ernie's gig, myself. It's embarrassing, going to social events alone, especially with the rest of you lot paired off and successful and happy." He gazed melodramatically into the middle distance.

"You're 'thinking of getting one?' How do you reckon you're going to manage that?" I asked bemusedly, adjusting a cauldron in the grate. "Girlfriends aren't _commodities_, mate – you can't just buy them in Diagon Alley or pick them off trees or something. You could ask Susan to come with you if you want, or somebody at the office, but if you're hoping for a meaningful relationship to _materialize_ within the next month … well, I hate to disappoint you, but … _Incendio!_" I directed my wand at the fireplace and flames leapt up from the coal.

"Oh, please, I can't find a date at the _office_!" Terry rolled his eyes. "All the people over twenty who are still part of the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad are weirdoes – Padma can tell you all about it. It's a stepping stone career, not the real thing that you want to stick with longer than you have to, and at any rate, your girlfriend's the only witch under twenty-five who works there. I'm going to submit a personal ad to the _Daily Prophet_'s singles page. Check this out –" he said, raising a hand for silence, as both Padma and I had simultaneously opened our mouths in protest. "'Male, 182 cm, dark hair, brown eyes, handsome. Age twenty, London resident. Seeking a female date between the ages of twenty and twenty-two for a charity benefit ball. Hogwarts graduate, former member of Ravenclaw House, currently employed with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes at the British Ministry of Magic. Enjoys experimental magic, music, and dancing.' What do you make of it?"

Padma and I stared at Terry, then glanced at each other in horror, completely dumbstruck. You have to understand that Terry is a very straight-arrow guy, the last person you'd expect to find searching for girlfriends by mail order. After several awkward seconds, I felt that someone had to say _something_, honest or not, and as Padma was still positively gaping at my roommate (very uncharacteristically reluctant to give opinion, might I add), I was the first to break the anxious silence: "Terry … are you sure you've met _all_ of your co-workers? I'm sure that you must have missed _someone_ decent …" I suggested lamely.

"Oh, you're too kind," Padma said impatiently, apparently regaining her voice. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Terry, you're a nice guy, but what the _hell_ do you think you're doing? I know you're very sensitive and romantic and desperate for love, but there's a right way and a wrong way to find your life partner, and to be quite frank, there are many methods that are much better than sending a personal ad to the _Daily Prophet_. Ask a friend to come to the party with you – heck, ask one of the weirdoes at the office, and no, there are no decent people there, Anthony. Pay Ginny Weasley to act as your date for the evening; you know she'd never be able to resist the combination of the guy and the cold, hard cash. Or even go alone, if it comes right down to it, but you're _not_ going through with this."

"Yes, _mother_," Terry said sarcastically. "I really do crave your advice terribly. Go on, Anthony, what do you think? Did I emphasize my dashing good looks and my lucrative career enough? If you were a witch, would you want to come to a charity function with this bloke?"

I shook my head, feeling slightly guilty. I mean, come on, no-one wants to be a bachelor forever … and Terry's not a bad guy, really; he just has had an unfortunate history with females starting in fourth year when he did some funny spell at the Yule Ball and accidentally made Mandy Brocklehurst sprout whiskers or some other stupid thing. "Sorry, mate, but I'm with Padma on this one. You can't pick up dates through the _Prophet_ – you don't even know who you're getting involved with! You could get some fifty-year-old Squib meeting up with you at St. Mungo's, for all you know. Personally, I'd rather go alone than with some stranger."

For a brief moment, Terry glared daggers at us (I am ashamed to admit that I found The Look considerably more threatening than the sparks now emitting from the tip of the wand clenched in his right fist), but just as suddenly as it rose, his temper subsided. "You know what?" he said slowly, with a curiously fascinated expression on his face, even more foreboding than The Look and The Wand Sparks combined, if you ask me. "I reckon you guys are right. There _are_ better ways to find a date than the _Daily Prophet_. Ways that I will be … _investigating_." And on that enigmatic note, he snatched up his cloak and walked out the door.

"He should've stuck around," I said to Padma after Terry departed, waving my wand over the cauldron sitting in the flames. "He drives me crazy, but I hate it when he's mad at me. I actually was about to agree to let Zacharias Smith move into the apartment with us to appease him. Poor bloke … no sense of timing whatsoever … dirty shame …"

"You don't say …"


End file.
